


Magic is Might, the Will of Emrys

by Impudent_Miscengenation



Series: The Druid Teacher [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Merlin (Merlin), Gen, Good Morgana (Merlin), Other, You've been warned, also some intense situations, bad at tags but here's hoping i got most everything, but it is violence, i self beta, jokes on you guys because I'm illiterate, rated for a mouthy alcoholic druid, self indulgent magical theory abound, the violence isn't super graphic tbh, trained mage Merlin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:15:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27010324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impudent_Miscengenation/pseuds/Impudent_Miscengenation
Summary: Alt. title: The Druid Teacher, Book I: WillpowerWillpower is the ability for you to control the power that courses within you and pull from the magic that works around you. Willpower is what allows you to stand tall and bend the forces of this world to your will, be it for good or ill intent.//The first part of a potentially long work in which Merlin gets the training in magic he always deserved.
Series: The Druid Teacher [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1971262
Kudos: 16





	Magic is Might, the Will of Emrys

**Author's Note:**

> Beginning of a potentially long work. One that I've actually got a general idea of how I want to go, believe it or not.  
> Life it nuts, so I won't promise updates to be done quickly but I will promise that I'm not going to abandon this or end it unexpectedly. Also, I'm hoping there's more continuity in this than just the snapshot storytelling I usually narrate with.  
> ANYWAY.  
> Please let me know what you think with a comment, I love hearing from you all!

In hindsight, Merlin realized that waiting until close to dusk to get around to picking up the echinacea and feverfew that Gaius needed was probably a bad idea. In his defense, Arthur had been _particularly_ insufferable that day. The royal prat had not so much as allowed Merlin the time to finish one task before barking at him to start on another-then berating him for leaving things unfinished, of course.

At this time, though, Arthur was eating dinner with his father and Lady Morgana in the royal dining hall. Being that they were eating with the king, the senior serving staff were in attendance for dinner. Merlin had figured that he had the time to inhale a bowl of cabbage soup and quickly get together a half a bushel of herbs from the forests just north of the castle before he needed to go back and attend to the prince.

Merlin knelt in the deep grass, carefully pulling out feverfew and being sure to get the root, steadily piling the herbs into the basket. It came without warning when a thick vine curled itself around Merlin's waist and wrenched him backwards into the air, his basket of herbs sent sailing. Merlin gasped in surprise but that was the only reaction he had the time for before he was hurled from midair back onto the ground, hard. Landing on his back, all the air was forced from his lungs. Tasting blood on his tongue and ignoring the shrill ringing in his ears, Merlin looked around for the source of the attack.

A woman, covered entirely by a long dark blue cloak, stood at the left. She was just barely visible from her place in the treeline. Her hand was still outstretched and Merlin didn’t want to give her the time to start encanting another spell. Taking a moment to check that he was still alone (aside from the attacker), Merlin raised his palm and called upon the magic in the ground beneath the woman.

He willed the earth at the sorceress’ feet to roil beneath her-to send her onto her back. The earth obeyed his command but, as Merlin was thinking about how to get himself out of the vines digging into his waist, the woman’s hand curled into a fist and she barked another incantation as she tumbled to the ground. 

_“_ _Ymbsetenna alaþ!”_ The vines, some with thorns, coiled and tightened around Merlin and began to stretch, expanding to pin his forearms to his sides, then his wrists. They curled down past his knees, bringing his shins together uncomfortably. The thorns thankfully didn’t increase in size but they became more numerous. They bit deep enough into the skin that it was distracting Merlin from coming up with a concrete plan of action. He yelped and cursed, racking his brain for a useful spell to loosen or cut the vines but coming up blank. The woman made her way back into a standing position and pulled her arm back towards herself.

“ _Feriġe.”_ As thick as they were, the vines moved quickly, whipping across the clearing from the forest floor and dragging the warlock across the field and in her direction.

The cleared trees at the edges of the Darkling Woods soon disappeared as the vines continued their trek, the sorceress following the vines deeper into the forest. At closer range, Merlin could make out more details on the woman that had stolen him away. She was nearing Gaius’ age, likely somewhere in her fifties. She had white-blonde hair, spattered with silver, currently in a tight bun on the top of her head. She was tall and broad-shouldered, though she was quite thin in her hips and limbs. Steely, green-gray eyes followed Merlin's gaze. Her nose was a bit long and crooked, prominent on her narrow face, and her thin lips were pressed into a tight line. Merlin couldn't tell if he was correctly reading her expression because she almost looked _bored_. Damn sorceresses.

Seemingly satisfied with their current position, the strange woman stopped and raised her hand.

“ _Forlǣtaþ_ _._ ” The vines stopped carrying him and they even loosened a bit, to Merlin's surprise. He glanced at the witch, who smirked and turned her hand palm-up.

“ _Āhebbaþ_ .” She uttered while lifting her hand, causing the vines to pull Merlin into a standing position. “ _Onbærnaþ cealdnysaletas_.” The vines burst into a bright blue flame, turning to ash instantly and leaving Merlin with a strange cold sensation where they had once been. Stunned that she’d dragged him out here only to free him, Merlin was intent on asking the witch her intentions when she flipped her outstretched palm and cut through the air in front of her from right to left.

“ _Onwegáscúfan!_ ” Merlin was flung backwards into a tree, once again knocking the air out of his chest. Pain radiated in his skull and down his spine as he slid to the base of the tree. Oddly, the first thing that came to his mind was: _oh, there’s an actual_ spell _that can force-push people away, good to know._ He then mentally added “likely concussed” to his expanding list of injuries accumulated in this scuffle, in addition to the cuts from the thorns and the bruising on his back. Merlin wheezed, doubling over and holding his chest while scrambling to his feet dazedly. As soon as he made it into a standing position, the sorceress thrust her palm outward, forming a fist as she swiped down in front of her.

“ _Niðeráscýfe!_ ” To Merlin, it was as if fifty horses were suddenly trampling on him. He fell to the ground again with a groan.

"When your opponent attacks, you have three choices: deflect, redirect, or dodge. You think your prince would have taught you that much by now." The sorceress sighed but then grinned.

"Come on, attack me. Show me what you’ve got." Merlin made a low growling noise, not needing to be goaded further before he flung out his hand and released his anger in the form of _fire_. Merlin felt his magic pushing out and seeking the source of his ire, setting the very air alight as it was forced from his body.

Straightfaced, the sorceress waited. When it appeared that Merlin’s blast of flame would hit its target, the woman smirked and made a triangle with her index fingers and thumbs. Taking a deep breath, she blew through the triangle and Merlin noted with dismay that his fire magic had been dispelled by the action. Her smirk only grew.

“You’ll have to try better than that if you _really_ want to land a hit.” Her right hand dropped to her side but her left hand rotated from left to right so quickly that Merlin was surprised it didn’t snap in protest.

“ _Hæfte._ ” Vines, just like the ones from before, wound around his feet and legs and moved up. Unlike the spell from before, the vines continued to grow until Merlin was completely swallowed by them. Squirming against the tightening plants, Merlin racked his brain for the spell that the sorceress used earlier to loosen them.

“A-Ah! Sh- _Āhebbaþ!”_ Suddenly, gravity shifted and the vines were pulling him upward. _Shite, this is not at all what I wanted._ Merlin thought in a panic. They were pulling him to the sky and yet they were still constricting him. He’d be dead from asphyxiation if he couldn’t manage to get these vines off of him.

“ _Forlǣtaþ!_ _”_ Merlin shouted desperately, squeezing his eyes shut and praying that he’d gotten it right. The vines stopped pulling him up _and_ they were no longer tightening around him. Merlin sighed in relief.

_Now to get out of here._ He couldn’t remember the pronunciation of her blue-fire spell but nonetheless, it gave him an idea. Honestly, he felt stupid for not thinking to use fire earlier but chalked it up to the unexpected nature of the evening.

_“_ _Beswæle bulentse!_ ” The vines writhed for a moment longer before turning a bright orange and shriveling away into ash, leaving Merlin to tumble out from the charring remains of the plants, wincing as the heat burned his exposed flesh. The spell had managed to pull him a ways off the ground and Merlin landed hard, in a crouch on hands and feet.

Breathing heavily, Merlin fixed his posture and set his furious gaze upon the sorceress, who was leaning against a tree with a relaxed her arms folded; she was regarding him with… impatience?

“In the time it took you to get out of that trap, you could have been fatally wounded in at least three places had I decided to attack. It’s _dangerous_ to cast spells if you’re unsure of what they do, fool-boy.” Narrowing his eyes, Merlin shifted his weight. He didn’t intend to feel chastised by the woman, though he supposed he had to admit that she was correct in her statement about his perhaps not-so-smart spellcasting.

“So why didn’t you? Attack, that is.” The sorceress rolled her eyes as if the answer was obvious. The corners of her mouth twitched upward and Merlin brought his magic to the surface of his skin in case she was preparing for another onslaught. She reached to her hip and pulled out a flask, tipping some of its contents down her throat before pushing herself off the tree and giving Merlin a once-over.

“Because I’m not a brute, I’m a teacher. I will come to you again in a fortnight.” She abruptly turned and disappeared entirely into the shadows of the trees.

_Take care, Emrys._ Her voice echoed softly as the swirl of dark blue was swallowed by the forest. Merlin blinked in faint surprise. The fact that she referred to him as Emrys should mean that the sorceress was a druid. Why would one of the druids attack him, though? To his knowledge, many of the druids were reverent of him and of his supposed role in a prophecy about an upcoming "Golden Age", where magic would supposedly return to Camelot. It made little sense for someone believing in that to simply attack him out of the blue.

Left feeling _incredibly_ befuddled by the chance encounter, Merlin carefully made his way back towards the city. He was littered with shallow cuts from the thorny vines and he’d gained a number of bruises as well. His clothes were torn in places where the vines had dug through them and Merlin bemoaned the mending he’d need to find the time to do.

He kept a sharp ear on the forest around him, glancing through shadowed trees to be sure that the druid woman was gone but it seemed that she had just up and vanished. When it didn’t seem as though she would make a reappearance, Merlin started to relax. He didn’t know how long he’d been gone, but it was dark and the sky was speckled with stars. He cursed at the fact that he didn’t have time to collect any of Gaius’ herbs with his being attacked and now it was too dark to see them. Not to mention the likelihood of Arthur being upset at him for being gone as long as he had been.

When he finally made his way back to the edge of the forest where he’d initially been attacked, however, he found his basket upright and overflowing with an abundance of what herbs he’d been gathering, as well as a few others. A small slip of blank parchment stuck out from the herbs. When Merlin’s slender finger plucked the parchment from the herbs, a message in emerald ink appeared. The handwriting was an unfamiliar, tight scrawl.

_A gift, think of it as a reminder to not get hurt when you play around with magic._

Merlin frowned but didn’t have further time to get upset before the words disappeared and were replaced with a different message in the same script.

_Remember: when your opponent attacks, you have three choices. You can deflect, redirect, or dodge._

Flipping the small slip over a few times revealed no other message and Merlin stowed it in his pocket to mull over later. The past candlemark or so had been wholly unfortuitous and left Merlin with a frazzled mind and sore body. While the basket full of herbs, admittedly, was nice as he wouldn’t need to return empty handed; they were a poor consolation prize for the assault he’d endured on his person. Not to mention the verbal assault he’d undoubtedly get from Arthur upon his return.

With a quiet groan, Merlin forced his abused muscles to work faster. Maybe if he snagged the prince something sweet from the kitchens, Arthur would be more amenable to allow Merlin’s tardiness to slide.

* * *

_Spells: **Ymbsetenna alaþ** \- rows of vines, grow/appear; **Feriġe** \- move; **Forlǣtaþ** \- (rough) stop; **Āhebbaþ** \- lift/heave; **Onbærnaþ** \- ignite; **Cealdnysaletas** \- (bastard word) coldfire; **Onwegáscúfan** \- push away; **Niðeráscýfe** \- push down; **Hæfte** \- bind/imprison; **Beswæle** \- burn; **Bulentse** \- [a] plant _

* * *

“Ye Gods, Merlin. Only you would muss yourself up this much _collecting herbs_. You look like you lost a fight with a shrub, you know. Tell me, how did you ever manage to make it to Camelot from Ealdor without klutzing yourself into an early grave?” Arthur taunted with an amused smirk while scratching at the stubble growing on his jaw. He was comfortably leaned back into his seat with his heels sitting on the corner of his desk.

When Merlin had first come in, Arthur had been raging about Merlin’s ineptitude as a servant and the importance of punctuality. But once the prince took in Merlin’s state, pine-needles and thorns in his wild hair with a face littered in shallow cuts, his ire had deflated and was soundly replaced with exasperated amusement. Of course, the honeyed cake that his servant had gifted him with probably hadn’t hurt the prince’s mood, either. Merlin, currently fixing Arthur’s bed for sleep, rolled his eyes in response to Arthur’s teasing.

“Prat.” He muttered, ducking down to tighten the fit of the sheet.

“It actually astounds me sometimes, Merlin, the amount of trouble you seem to get yourself into on a daily basis even aside from your normal bumbling about. As I’m sure I’ve said, it’s a wonder you’ve managed to survive this long, being such an idiot.” Arthur either hadn’t heard him or was acting as if he hadn’t, drumming his fingers on the desk with that annoying, condescending grin of his.

“It’ll take more than a few upturned roots to get rid of me, _sire_.” Merlin huffed as he fixed the comforter and readjusted the down feather pillows. “Besides, it’s not like I go looking for trouble.” Arthur made an amused sound in his throat and moved to stand as he pulled his tunic over his head.

“You’re wrong but even if you don’t look for it, you attract it like a fly to dung.” Merlin grimaced in distaste for the comparison, straightening from his hunched position and moving closer to the center of the room.

“Pleasant. Am I the fly or the dung in this scenario?” Merlin asked dryly and Arthur shrugged, throwing his tunic in Merlin’s face.

“Take your pick.” Rolling his eyes and tossing the soiled shirt in the nearby laundry basket, Merlin started clearing away Arthur’s desk of parchment and ink while the prince stepped behind his screen to undress.

“You know, perhaps I should have you assist the senior serving staff when I take dinner with my father. You may learn a thing or two.” Merlin wrinkled his nose at the thought of being in such close proximity to King Uther. Not only was the man entirely merciless in manners regarding magic, the monarch generally had an unpleasant disposition and was prone to take it out on those born in a lower class.

“But more likely I’d be _flogged_ for placing the wrong sized spoon on the wrong side of the plate or some other such nonsense.” Arthur, the prat, laughed deeply in response and the sound of it brought a wide smile to Merlin’s face.

“You’re such a melodramatic, _Mer_ lin.” Merlin offered a crude, exaggerated mock-bow, stupid grin still plastered to his face.

With Arthur dressed in his nightshirt and in bed, Merlin only stayed to bolster the hearth and snuff out the remaining candles before taking his leave, hauling the laundry basket of clothing out the door with him, the armor he had to polish piled on top of that. 

* * *

There wasn’t much time between when Merlin finished his chores and when he’d have to be awake to rouse Arthur but the warlock was determined to make the best of it and get as much rest as he could. It was easy to tip into his bed, face-first and not so much fall asleep as fall unconscious.

When Merlin woke up, however, he found that he was in front of a raging bonfire in a part of the forest he was entirely unfamiliar with. The heat from the flames was not overbearing, though Merlin _did_ scoot back in surprise. Multicolored rocks of various sizes (though they were all larger than his palm) marked the edges of the fire and Merlin frowned upon seeing small etchings upon every stone.

Away from the fire, Merlin counted ten tents set up around the forested area. He was in the middle of what looked like an abandoned druid camp. Almost abandoned, he noted, another figure coming into view. Merlin scrambled to his feet.

“You!” The sorceress that had attacked him earlier that evening made her way to the fire carrying a small bag at her side. From the bag she retrieved a flask, which she uncorked in quick succession. She sat across from him and Merlin crouched defensively.

“Elin is my name. I might thank you to use it.” Merlin’s jaw dropped.

“You _attacked_ me!” Elin gave him a condescending look. She was still wearing the long blue cloak, though the hood was down and so was her silvery-blonde hair. The sleeve on her left arm, holding the flask to her lips, had ridden up and exposed what looked like a tattoo of blue clover on her forearm. After looking a bit closer, Merlin realized that it had originally been a Druid tattoo but had been defaced with more ink and possibly magic.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, you weren’t really hurt. You learned a thing or two, didn’t you?” Merlin just glared, though he relaxed his stance a bit when Elin leaned back on her right palm and crossed her legs. 

“Pout all you want but I stand by my lessons.” Merlin’s scowl increased in intensity.

“You attack me and then you kidnap me and now you’re trying to pass it off as a lesson? Who _are_ you?” The woman raised her brow in a way that reminded Merlin distinctly of Gaius. He supposed it could be a thing to do with their similar ages.

“I’ve told you that my name is Elin and that I am a teacher. That is all and that is the truth. And, while your first lesson seems to have made a lasting impression- _good_ , I’ve not kidnapped you at all. You may dismiss yourself as you see fit. I merely thought that you would, perhaps, like an introduction. An orientation to your lessons, if you will.” Merlin’s anger took a backseat for a moment as confusion prompted him to further study his surroundings.

The forest was unfamiliar, yes, but looking closer Merlin noticed that nearly every aspect of the _terrain_ was unfamiliar. Wandering from the fire, Merlin started studying the plants that littered the ground. They were obviously magical, some of their brightly colored petals pulsating with a gentle light. Others were spotted with multiple bright colors that drew the eye in an either pleasing or threatening way and Merlin noticed that even the _trees_ were somewhat odd.

Some of them looked as though they were _breathing_ , and when Merlin ran his fingers along the bark the surface was smooth like worked clay. The leaves were soft to the touch, and they _wriggled_ when pinched. An enchanted forest, perhaps? Certainly nowhere Merlin was familiar with.

“Where are we?” Elin smiled, not quite smug but certainly in self-pride, and took another sip off the flask.

“This place has no name, for there are few with the ability to walk here. The land of dreams can be a nightmare for those who cannot temper their own mind. I, myself, have come to call it the Respite.” Walking back over to the campfire, forcing himself away from a patch of glittering lily-flowers, Merlin sat down in the spot he woke up in. He still eyed Elin warily but his curiosity was beginning to overwhelm his suspicion.

“So, I’m dreaming this? It’s all in my head?” Elin shrugged.

“A matter of perspective, but yes. Currently, your real body is sleeping.” Merlin studied the older woman intently, searching for ill intent as she answered the questions that came into his mind.

“How long have I been here, and asleep, for that matter? Will I wake up on my own? I thought you said that the next time I’d see you isn’t until a fortnight from now.” 

“I said that I would _come_ to you in two weeks; I am not near Camelot right now. And this magic isn’t an exact science but if I had to take a rough guess at how time compares in this world to the real one… Six moons could come and go in this place, specifically, and perhaps one moon would be halfway through its cycle in the real world.”

"What do you mean by this place, specifically?"

“You think that the world of dreams is confined only to this Druid camp, boy? There is a vast realm out there; one could spend their entire life dreaming and not see all of it.”

While Merlin processed, his eyes wandered back to Elin’s forearm and to the disfaced druidic tattoo he’d caught a glimpse of earlier. While he’d gotten the impression she was a druid (her calling him Emrys was a giveaway, really), Elin was unlike any other druid he’d spoken with. Far more cynical than what Merlin was used to, to say the least.

“I left on my own, though I’d imagine there were few that were sorry to see me leave.” Elin told him offhandedly, bringing the flask to her lips. Merlin looked up in surprise, wondering for a moment if she could read his mind but thought it was much more likely that she’d caught him staring at her forearm.

“I’ve always had… _radical_ opinions, especially where magic is concerned. As such, I didn’t always take kindly to the, ah, _advice_ the village elders would bestow upon me. It was better for everyone that I walk my own path; I don’t regret it.”

“How radical does an opinion on magic have to be for the druids to turn away one of their own?” She snorted harshly and shook her head a couple times.

“Not very, in truth. My opinion on blood magic is just one example.” Merlin frowned.

“Your opinion on-?”

“In the eyes of the druids, blood magic is maleficarum. I disagree. I believe magic is magic and it only matters in how it is utilized, including blood magic.”

“But isn’t blood sacrifice inherently bad?” Elin sighed and leaned back, tipping the flask up to her lips again before giving a response.

“Some kingdoms use magic to form arranged marriages by enchanting the parties involved until the appropriate paperwork is completed. I’m sure you’ve had experience with this in your time serving Prince Arthur.”

“Well, how does-”

“Did you know that sometimes these binding enchantments are arranged by the betrothed as their first marital decision?”

“Wait-arranged as in the both of them ask to be magicked into falling in love with one another?” Elin made a noise in the back of her throat that indicated he wasn’t _entirely_ correct but not willing to delve into the subject of why.

“That’s… the essence of it, yes. In my youth, I was called upon to help perform the rite of one such union. I asked the heiress of her estate on her reasoning for requesting the enchantment… She told me that joy is still joy, even if the source is from magic and not entirely of her own mind and body.” For a while after that story, there was nothing but the sound of the crackling fire between them. Merlin glanced from the burning logs back to the shadows playing over her face.

“Why tell me that-about the heiress, I mean?” Elin grunted and shrugged her shoulders, another sip taken from her flask.

“Why tell you anything? Knowledge and experience are different things, I suppose. The heiress specifically? To show you how some minds work-how they _could_ work, if presented the possibility.”

“What do you mean by that?” She heaved a heavy sigh, pulling a long swallow before answering.

“What you and a lot of other young people fail to remember is that magic was not only legal but widely practiced not even thirty years ago. Sorcerers were prized for their abilities and would regularly compete in tournaments of magic. It was also common that any court physician who wasn’t magically trained in healing had an assistant that was. High priestesses and dragonlords with their dragons were all given high standing in court to provide expert advice on all magical affairs. In general, magic wasn’t just a tool to cultivate but a way of life that benefited everyone.”

“Wait, the high priestesses and dragons were nobility?”

“How else do you think Uther Pendragon managed to get his filthy hands on most of them so quickly? Camelot might have power, but her reach has its limits. Yet nearly all of the dragonlords are gone and the same can be said for the priestesses. Do you know how the Great Purge began, boy?” With Arthur’s birth, technically, but Merlin had a feeling that wasn’t the answer she was going to provide him with, so he shook his head in the negative. Elin hummed and took another drink.

“Uther invited all sorts of ‘magical advisors’ within reach for a banquet, throwing it in the name of the High Priestess Nimueh’s ascension to the role of Camelot’s first court enchantress. Had the dragonlords call forth their dragons for a display of fire and magic to bring attention to said celebration.”

“At first, it didn’t really make much sense. His wife had only just died and already there were rumors circulating that Uther blamed magic for it. A powerful dragonlord named Balinor suggested that, perhaps, Uther was trying to find joy where he could amidst such a bittersweet time. An optimistic but naive way of thinking. He got quite a few people to join him, in spite of the rumors.”

“I’m sure you saw this coming: the celebration was all a farce to get a lot of magic users in one place at one time. Most of the guests were stabbed in the back by the serving staff during dinner. They tried hunting the rest of them down one by one. I’m not sure how many are left alive, though I’m aware that few likely are.” Another long draught from the flask was taken and Elin hiccuped once she swallowed.

“There was never a worse enemy of the people-magic or no-than Uther Pendragon and his fear mongering; he turned neighbor against neighbor, burning every other person he came across even if they couldn’t so much as light a candle with magic.” Elin’s cheeks were flushed pink by this time in her speech and Merlin couldn’t tell how much of it was from alcohol.

“Uther is a great king, because only great people can accomplish the creation and destruction of a culture-a way of thinking, a way of living. He is a monster, a heartless hypocrite, and deserves no less than a blade through the gut with all the misery he’s caused. He moved mountains of progress for the magical world nearly back into the stone age. Do you know how many books he burned? Or unique rune tablets he ordered to be shattered?”

“It is thankful that there are yet books to be found, as well as those of us old enough to remember certain spells from a time before the Purge. Not all of our knowledge has to be lost; until my last breath leaves me I will teach what I know.” Elin sighed and arched her brow at Merlin.

“Do you know that the druids insist that the recovery and restoration of magic was marked by your birth, Emrys? It is you who will lead the next generation of mages through the darkness Uther Pendragon has brought upon magic, according to prophecy. You and Arthur Pendragon are to ring in the Golden Era and create the unified kingdom of Albion.” Merlin furrowed his brow in confusion.

“Yeah, I’ve heard the last bit before but… _me_ leading the next generation of mages? I’ve never heard anything about that.” Elin rolled her eyes but the side of her lip quirked in the ghost of a smile and chuckled.

“You believe that the Druids worship you for only guiding your prince? You are the most powerful warlock to ever walk this earth; should magic ever become decriminalized, you’d have a line of potential students longer than you’d know what to do with.” Merlin blanched and Elin barked a laugh.

“B-But I don’t know how I do it! I mean, I really don’t know much about magic, honest!” The older woman stood, cracking her bones with a grunt as she did so.

“‘Tis why _I’m_ here, no? I will teach you the basics and show you what I’ve seen. Once I teach you how to teach yourself, you will no longer have need of me. When that day comes, you’ll know that you are ready for the path that lies ahead of you.” She reached out a hand to help Merlin to his feet, which he took with only minor hesitation.

“You will do great things, Emrys, of that much I know. But remember that not all of the things we do in our greatness reflect on our goodness to mankind.”

When Elin let go of his hand, the world began to swirl and blur and suddenly Merlin was snorting himself awake at first light. His body felt more rested than it had in a while and Merlin was surprised to find that, in the palm of the hand he’d let himself be pulled up by (in the dream), there was a small slip of parchment.

Written in the same emerald ink, in a script that was slightly less unfamiliar than before, Merlin read his message:

_Dreams hold danger but they also hold power-to wield this power, one must temper the mind as well as body._

Unlike the last note, there were no secondary or hidden messages and Merlin tucked the slip with the first into his magic book under the floorboards. As he washed himself and dressed for the day, he wondered over the events of the day before.

While he still didn’t fully trust Elin, it seemed that she was intent on making him her pupil. Ironically, Merlin _had_ come to Camelot to learn how to control his magic. If nothing else, he knew that Elin was an accomplished magic user firsthand, being on the receiving end of some of her attacks.

Merlin decided that he should hear what the druid woman had to say, at least. If there was someone willing to teach him about magic, in a place where just the mention of it would get you executed, who was he to refuse a lesson or two?

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked the first chapter! Hopefully, I'll have another one for you soon!


End file.
